


Once a Thief

by dvs



Series: Variations on a D-Brane (I Belong to You) [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is a highway robber and Bones keeps getting robbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once a Thief

"Your money, or your life. Please."

McCoy looked at the masked man outside his carriage. He had the most incorrigible grin on display, and the blue of his eyes was bright and pale under the hat and mask. The gun in his hand pointed at McCoy wasn't as interesting.

"Please? Well, at least you're polite," McCoy muttered as he pulled out a pouch of coins.

"I was brought up to be a very good boy," the robber said, clicking his fingers for the pouch before catching it his hand. "Thank you kindly." Another bright grin.

All McCoy could muster was a disgruntled, "Unbelievable."

*

"Your money or your life."

"What? You're not going to say please this time?" McCoy said, leaning past the drapes to look at the familiar sight.

The robber's eyes seemed to narrow, trying to place him perhaps. Then he smiled and too gently for a robber said, "Please."

McCoy shook his head. "You've already stolen from me. Find someone else!"

"I'm sorry, do you not see this gun? I'm sure it's aimed at you."

McCoy looked around in his pockets angrily, found the coins and threw them at the highway man, who caught them before they hit his face. "Take it! While you're at it, why don't you just take everything right down to my damn bones!"

The man smiled, squeezing the coin purse in his hand. "Maybe next time. Good journey."

And then he was riding off on his black horse, cape blowing behind him.

*

"Good evening, Sir," the greeting sounded as if it came from a too amused man. McCoy didn't bother with conversation. He found the money and threw it past the drapes partially covering the carriage door windows.

There was a gasp of surprise, before the familiar man leaned into the carriage, peering at McCoy. "You look as though you were trampled by a horse."

McCoy was more than aware of his wild hair, the stubble, the disheveled clothes. He didn't need a thief to point it out. Instead he gave the other man a look and said, "You have what you want."

The thief's mouth quirked into a smile. "Do I?"

"I don't know," McCoy said sarcastically. "Don't you?"

The thief snorted and opened up the coin purse, extracting a few pieces and holding them out in the palm of his gloved hands. "Here."

"What for?" McCoy asked suspiciously.

"For a good drink. Or a good--"

"Just keep the advice to yourself and let my man move on. _If_ you don't mind," McCoy said with disgust.

The stranger shrugged. "Not at all. Until we meet again."

McCoy glared at the thief and then banged the ceiling of the carriage with his cane. The way things were with Jocelyn and her overbearing father, McCoy wasn't sure he'd have much left to be robbed of next time he saw the thief.

*

"Money or your life." McCoy remained where he sat in the dark of the carriage, the barest of moonlight making it inside. "Are you driving an empty carriage?"

"No, Sir," the coachmen replied.

"Do you have any money?"

"No, Sir. But I do have some illicit lithographs." McCoy rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Really? And how came you by such interesting pieces of work?"

"Well, I'm in them, Sir."

"Ah. Well, in that case, keep them, my good man. Memories such as those should be treasured." McCoy could actually hear the bright grin in the words.

The carriage door opened and the robber climbed in, shutting the door as he sat down. McCoy watched him making himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other, resting one arm and balancing the hand with his gun on top of his knee.

"I take it you're offering me your life," he said.

"I don't have any money,” McCoy said coldly.

"Well, I can't go without taking something," the thief said with a smile that absorbed all the moonlight creeping into the carriage.

McCoy looked down at his hands and after a long time thinking and a tired sigh, he took off the gold wedding band and held it out. "Here."

The thief put his gun down and it made McCoy wonder how he hadn't gotten himself killed with such negligence. The other man's gloved hand reached out for the ring before it completely closed over McCoy's hand, warm and firm. McCoy still didn't move, still too crushed by the day's events.

In the meantime, the highway robber moved closer, pushing back his own hat as he neared and pressed his mouth to McCoy's. McCoy let go of a breath, maybe something more broken, letting it out against the thief's mouth, closing his eyes and moving his face to the side where the mouth pressed to his stubbled cheek before moving to his neck, his throat. McCoy's breath hitched and he placed his free hand against the thief's chest, gently pushing him away.

"I don't know what you're trying to steal here," McCoy said hoarsely.

The thief sat back slowly, hand fisted around the ring, gun idle by his side. He opened his palm and looked at the gold band, before closing his hand in a fist again Before he reached for his hat and replaced it on his head.

Picking up the gun he smiled at McCoy, only it seemed to stretch wrong, like it wasn't a smile at all. "Until we meet again."

And then he was gone and McCoy was left alone.

*

  
The carriage came to a sharp halt, the horses neighing as it lurched forward. McCoy was about to ask what was happening, but then he heard the gunshots. It didn't sound like his thief.

"Are you okay?" he heard his coachman shout at someone.

The carriage door opened and a man jumped in, his black cloak flying around him. He punched the wall of the carriage and shouted, "Go!" He looked up at McCoy from where he was doubled over on the opposite seat. "We have to stop meeting like this."

McCoy looked at the gun in his hand, pointed to nowhere in particular and held unsteadily by bloody hands. McCoy moved towards the other man, taking the gun and throwing it aside.

"Damn it," he hissed as the thief's eyes began to roll back and he began to slip away. McCoy got past the cape, coat and waistcoat, finding a soggy bloody shirt and finally the wound in his side, bleeding profusely. McCoy reached up, slapping the man firm enough to rouse him, but not too hard, leaving behind smears of blood. "Come on, stay with me a little longer."

Eyes opened into narrow blue slits focused on McCoy. The thief gave a slight nod, blinking slowly. McCoy tore at the man's cape, balled up the strips and stuffed them against the wound, the wounded man flinching with each touch and biting back hisses of pain. When he stemmed the flow the best he could, he held down the barely conscious man as the carriage flew over bumps and dips until finally he was home.

*

The night passed with McCoy working frantically to treat the gunshot wound in the thief's side. He carried the man into his kitchen, using his legs to sweep the large wooden table clear, telling the coachman to go and fetch the only person he knew who wouldn't drop at the sight of blood.

Christine walked into the kitchen moment later, stopping with a gasp, just as McCoy finished ripping away the shirt from the wounded man and reaching for his mask, pulling it off quickly, not stopping to savor a moment he had privately thought about many times.

"It's James Kirk," she said, staring at McCoy.

McCoy stared back at her and then the man. As far as he knew, Kirk was the ward of a very wealthy naval commander and probably didn't need to rob anyone for money. "Probably just looks like him, help me turn him on his side here."

"It's him, believe me," she said, holding Kirk in place once he was on his side. "If you'd ever accepted an invitation to a social event, you might know who he was."

"I'm a doctor, not a socialite. There. We need to stop the bleeding." Kirk flinched as McCoy examined the wound. Christine looked at McCoy with concern. "I've seen worse."

McCoy patched up the wound while his patient shifted between unaware and gripping the edge of the table through the worst of the pain.

"Christine, get my room ready please," McCoy said when he was finally done. She gave him a nod and disappeared while McCoy kicked aside the bunched scraps of cloth and Kirk's clothing on the floor. When he turned to look at Kirk, he was blinking slowly at McCoy through bright fevered eyes.

"Thank you," he said thickly.

McCoy shook his head. "You've got some nerve." Kirk laughed. McCoy could only shake his head. "Come on. Put your arm around my shoulders and hold on tight."

He helped Kirk sit up slowly, pulling his arm up around his shoulders, before lifting him off the table and carrying him to his bedroom.

*

Kirk slept well through the night, his fever breaking, the wound showing no signs of renewed bleeding or infection. McCoy in the meantime sat in his armchair, feet resting on the edge of the bed as he knocked back a bottle of good whiskey, the fireplace behind him warming the room.

Christine had helpfully filled in the blanks on James Tiberius Kirk. Born twenty-five years ago on a ship called the Kelvin. It went down with Captain George Kirk, his father, raided by pirates and sunk at sea. Twenty-two years later, naval commander Christopher Pike found him in a tavern, drinking and brawling and somehow convinced him to be a better man.

In a month he was supposed to be heading out on the maiden voyage of the Enterprise and the society pages were about to lose their favourite cad. At this point, McCoy suggested Christine go home and find new reading material.

Somewhere near dawn, Kirk awoke with a start, looking around, clearly dazed and confused. He saw McCoy, frowned and then touched his own face where the mask would have been. And then it looked as though the events earlier in the night came back and he relaxed against the pillows.

"You owe me a lot of money," McCoy said. Kirk grinned weakly. "What I don't understand is, why? It's not like you even needed it, Mr. Kirk."

"Jim," Kirk said. "Call me, Jim."

"You going to answer my question, Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "I have no problem stealing from the rich."

"I'm a doctor," McCoy pointed out.

"I enjoyed stealing from you," Jim said with tilted smile.

McCoy stared. "You really are something."

"Was that your wife?" Jim asked a moment later. "She seemed nice."

McCoy shook his head. "No. Not my wife. You'll notice I didn't replace the ring you took from me."

"I only took it because you didn't need it anymore," Jim said simply.

"That's not all you took," McCoy said, filling his glass and putting the bottle on the ground. "An easy thing to do when you wear a mask."

Jim gave McCoy a long thoughtful look. "I'm not wearing one now."

McCoy nodded. "So you say."

Jim grimaced, both his hands going to his side as he let out sudden groan. McCoy was up in a flash, and by Jim's side, pulling away his hands and not even noticing the other man move closer before he stole a kiss. McCoy was startled for a moment, his body going still before suddenly he was holding Jim close and kissing back, letting the fingers of one hand comb through Jim's hair.

When they pulled apart, McCoy shook his head and laughed at Jim. "Once a thief, always a thief."

"Like I said. I enjoy stealing from you," Jim said.

McCoy stood up. "I bet you break a lot of hearts." Jim lay back and tilted his head at McCoy, smiling with amusement. "Get some rest. I hear you'll be sailing on the Enterprise soon. Wouldn't want you to miss that."

Jim looked deep in thought. "You know, we still need a physician. Know someone who might be interested?"

"In sailing on an extravagant piece of wood that could sink anytime? Not really, no."

"You think you could be persuaded?"

McCoy gave Jim a look before picking up his bottle and saying, "Yell if you think you're dying. I'll be downstairs."

*

Three months later, McCoy awoke from a hell of a hangover. He blamed Jim. Whenever they got together, it always ended up in the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol or Jim paying him back for all the coins he stole. At least, that was what Jim insisted he was doing whenever he ended up naked in McCoy's bed. McCoy was going to be a lonely man once the Enterprise sailed, that much was certain.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed, stomach lurching as he rolled to sit up on the edge of the bed. Rubbing his face, he took a look around. This was not his bedroom. It wasn't Jim's bedroom either. It wasn't even the bedroom at some seedy tavern they frequented. It was more like a ship's cabin.

McCoy's mind went blank for a moment before his eyes widened and he almost flew off the bed and ran towards the door and out onto the deck. There in the distance was the harbor. McCoy could not no more than stare.

"Doctor." He turned to see Pike smiling at him. "I hear you've been feeling unwell. Even so, we're glad to have you aboard."

As he moved down the deck to talk to another officer, Jim came into view, grinning. "Bones. You're up."

"You turn this ship around _now_," McCoy said, pointing a finger at Jim's face.

"But then you might leave and that is the opposite of what I want," Jim said matter-of-factly.

"You can't steal a person!" McCoy snapped.

"I thought I just did," Jim said.

"Unbelievable," McCoy said, eying the rest of the crew, the horizon, the sky, the ship. Behind him somewhere was an empty house and even more empty bottles of whiskey. In front of him was Jim and an odd rightness about this whole wretched situation.

Jim sighed. “Let me make this easier for you.” He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at McCoy. “You're money or your life. Please.”

McCoy stared at Jim. As proposals went, it was an odd one, but this was Jim and McCoy knew exactly what he was being asked. “I don't have any money.”

Jim smiled. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

McCoy sighed and looked at the water lapping at the sides of the ship's hull. He turned to Jim and said, “Well, fair warning, I may throw up on you.”

**\- the end -**


End file.
